This is the crisis I knew had to come
Who: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson
When: Early afternoon, November 22nd
Where: Sector 4, more specifically, an old cat lady's house that has more in it than it seems.
Summary: After a lot of investigation stunted by the city's endless distractions, Sherlock and John finally track down the serial killer the police dubbed "Lefty."
Warnings: Violence, possibly language?
Before Sherlock even knocked on Opal Hendricks' neighbors' doors, he'd known this was where the case would end. He saw no less than six different cats prowling on her property, and when he spoke to the people who lived around her, disguised as a community officer, they all complained about the smell of something rotting coming from the basement. They wrote it off as dead cats, or maybe even the lack of apparent litter boxes. Sherlock knew better-- he knew what a human corpse smelled like. Even just pieces of it.
A week of preparations later, Sherlock, with John in tow, stood on the old woman's doorstep, a new cat already rubbing against his leg and his face buried in his scarf. On the ground floor, it was just the overwhelming cat odor that was disgusting.
"You may have to keep her busy at some point," he said, turning to John. He could only hope the doctor heard him through the mewing and the scarf.
When: Early afternoon, November 22nd
Where: Sector 4, more specifically, an old cat lady's house that has more in it than it seems.
Summary: After a lot of investigation stunted by the city's endless distractions, Sherlock and John finally track down the serial killer the police dubbed "Lefty."
Warnings: Violence, possibly language?
Before Sherlock even knocked on Opal Hendricks' neighbors' doors, he'd known this was where the case would end. He saw no less than six different cats prowling on her property, and when he spoke to the people who lived around her, disguised as a community officer, they all complained about the smell of something rotting coming from the basement. They wrote it off as dead cats, or maybe even the lack of apparent litter boxes. Sherlock knew better-- he knew what a human corpse smelled like. Even just pieces of it.
A week of preparations later, Sherlock, with John in tow, stood on the old woman's doorstep, a new cat already rubbing against his leg and his face buried in his scarf. On the ground floor, it was just the overwhelming cat odor that was disgusting.
"You may have to keep her busy at some point," he said, turning to John. He could only hope the doctor heard him through the mewing and the scarf.